Classic Poem

Soft and sweete Aires whose gentle gales,
Swell but doe slakely swell our sayles,
And only such to Heaven convay,
Whom theyr owne Tide doeth waft that way.

In[s]tructing them in happinesse
Who weare before in kenn of Blisse
Though only saynts doe heare and see
The Angells in your harmony.

Yet even from us ill spirritts Fly
When by such charmes, uncharm'd wee bee
The unprepar'd this grace doe Find
Yee coole and doe refresh the Mynde.

But the more peacefull soules and Free
meete with their owne your Harmony
Sometimes surpris'd, then doe prevent
the lesse harmonious Instrument.

Soft ayres yee gently Fan A Fire
of pure unmixt thoughts which aspire
Soe of themselves I doe not know
Whither to you they ought can owe.